


How Stars Die

by soupmetaphors



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Pre-Portal, caveline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stars collapse on themselves and pull everyone into the black hole that forms out of its absence. Caroline should know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Stars Die

They think he’s getting better or, at least, regaining some strength.

She doesn’t know. All the correct paperwork is waiting to be filed, regardless. _Prepared_ , that’s what she is.

(But not for the right thing.)

They think he might have more days. Months, _years_ even.

Are they kidding themselves? Probably.

He walks towards her with that knife-sharp grin she’s accustomed to. The doctors trail behind, scribbling away on their clipboards. She waits. Hands by her side, careful not to fidget.

_Do you want the world, Caroline?_

No, she thinks, as his grin turns into a grimace.

His legs fold beneath him, hands clutching for support that isn’t there.

The doctors rush to his aid. He’s shouting, only she can’t hear over his wheezing.

 _Well_ , yes, _actually_. But no. Not if it means losing him forever.

More people arrive, filling the corridor. She can’t see him anymore. Just listens to his angry coughing, the doctors barking out orders.

She should go to him, certainly.

She doesn’t.

* * *

 

They give him white sheets that are soon speckled with fine red drops.

She wonders if they’ll ever learn.

At least the coughing has stopped, the oxygen mask put aside. _For now._

Sits by his side, holding his hand. She feels bone under paper skin, brittle, _breakable_.

_How do stars die, Caroline?_

They burn up. Collapse in on themselves. Go through a painful procedure.

You don’t _watch_ stars die, she thinks. You turn away. Unless it’s for science, in which case you’ll _have_ to watch them die.

He tilts his head to look at her. Hands squeezes hers, too lightly. She’s used to that firm, gripping hold. It chills her to see its polar opposite.

“Yes, sir?” she asks.

What begins as a gentle speech leaves him screaming out his suggestion at her, red running down the side of his mouth and her holding back tears.

Unable to accept. Unable to do this, suddenly, this last act for a man she has given _everything_ to.

* * *

 

_Do you want to live forever, Caroline?_

She stands in the corridor outside, fidgeting with her hands.

His words play in a loop in her ears.

This whole company will be hers when he’s gone- and he _will_ be gone, despite her hardest wishes- and for a measly price. His words, to be exact. _A measly price._

Her body. Her hands and her legs and her mouth and everything else.

“They can’t finish it for me in time,” he’d told her. “So you’ll take my place.”

_Yes, Mr. Johnson, sir!_

Brushes the tears from her eyes, angrily. She’s angry at herself, at him, at the world. Shouldn’t give in. Shouldn’t accept this fate. Isn’t _going_ to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, quietly.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll hear her.

* * *

 

They strap her to the table a week after his death.

She does not scream, does not plead: The numbness has spread inside of her, a cancer that won’t be gone.

_Stars die, did you know that, Caroline?_

No, not another memory of _him_. Her father, this time. The two of them watching the stars from their backyard.

 _They_ do?

She watches the needles come closer. Doesn’t know if she’ll be _awake_ for the procedure or asleep. Doesn’t know which is worst.

_Of course they do. Everything dies, honey. Even people._

The sharp edges glint under the bright, white lights. They do not slow down.

_And you shouldn’t watch when metaphorical stars die. It just hurts._

All of this is hers and she is all of this and everything is _not_ going to be alright.

_Like mother?_

She can still remember her father’s expression: Like the sun going behind a cloud, darkening horizons.

_Just don’t watch. Promise me, Caroline. It’ll save you the heartbreak._

That promise lies buried now. Six feet under, a wreath of pain and sadness and bittersweet. More bitter than sweet, if she’s honest.

Stars die, she thinks. The needle is almost in contact with her skin.

Stars die and sometimes they form black holes that suck everything they love in.

A slight prick. Her eyes closing, the drug working its way at an incredible speed through her system.

“ _You’ve watched a star die, haven’t you?_ ” her father says, from across the vast plain of time.

_Yes. It hurt. Why did it hurt? I don’t want it to hurt, I don’t want to hurt, I don’t-_

And- just like that- she’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't played Portal in the longest time, so please forgive any errors.


End file.
